Attitudes
by Percyjacksonfan3
Summary: 6 stories from 6 tumblr prompts, each concerning a different pair. Gendry and Arya, Brienne and Jaime, Jon and Ygritte, Ned and Catelyn, Shireen and Rickon and last but definitely not least, Sandor and Sansa. Lot's of sansan in this one. :) Enjoy! Rated T because you know how bad Sandor's language can get.


**6 Game of Thrones Ships of mine (none but Ned and Catelyn and Jon and Ygritte canon) from 6 prompts. Enjoy! ****Sansan one got kind of out of control... think it takes up half of this fic. Sorry bout that but I couldn't find a good place to end it until the part I did end it at!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

oooOOOooo

Gendry x Arya

1. longing

He pounded away at the glowing metal with the smithy hammer, working, working, always working. You could hardly get him out of the forge these days. The work helped to distract him from his thoughts. It gave him something to do with himself instead of sitting and wallowing in thoughts and theories of what might be, what could have been, and what should never have even been a possibility.

Her eyes, wild and grey, never afraid to look yours dead on, never went far from his thoughts. Her attitude, defensive and sometimes cruel- all a big cover for how alone and scared she had felt.

The tone of her voice when she had told him that she could be his family. Pleading and hopeful and sad because maybe deep down she knew she couldn't. Not really.

No matter how much both of them wanted her to be.

So he tells her the truth, that she wouldn't be his family. She'd be a lady that he would serve and bow to and Gendry didn't think he could have done that with her. Not when he's seen the other  
side of her, her wild side. He didn't think he could act like a humble servant when he was used to being her friend and wanted so much more than that.

But the hurt in her eyes was enough to make him stop speaking, stop himself from explaining exactly why they couldn't be more than what they were already. He held his tongue and watched as the hurt left her eyes to be replaced by anger as she turned and strode away, not sparing him another word. It had hurt him too, he had realized, to say those words to her. But it was best for them both.

Or at least he had tried to make himself believe that at the time.

Right now, hammering away at the steel, he missed her. Missed her more than anything he had ever missed before. He longed for her and it was sharp and acute and piercing with each beat of his heart and each breath of his lungs.

He remembered her laugh, free and unrestrained. The way her eyes would grow sad at the mention of her family but would always light up when she told him a story from before they all went to King's Landing. The way he had grown jealous when the man at the tavern had been trying to have his way with her. He had called her his sister and sent the man on his way.

He told himself later that night it had been because she was so young he had grown angry. It was because they were friends and he didn't want that to happen to her. Because she was a lady and she deserved to lose her maidenhead on her wedding night like any lord's daughter should.

It was not because he had any feelings for her. The idea was outrageous and more unrealistic than the thought of Florian and Jonquil from that song he had heard as a child. He was a bastard. She was a lady. It wouldn't work, even if she'd wanted it to.

But he had wanted her, by the end, and he had known it. So he had to remind himself of her status more, keep the knowledge of her birth fresh in his mind. It grew harder with each day because she was just Arya to him, the girl who had been through too much and found herself traveling as best she could from place to place in a search of home. Fierce, wild, mysterious Arya whom he thinks he could have fallen in love with if he hadn't already. So yes, he had reminded himself of who she was and finally, with more strength than he thought he had posessed, had left her to join the Brotherhood, his heart breaking a little bit more at her words about being each other's family.

He shook his head. But he never should have left her or let her go, whatever had happened, not for a second. He knew she had been hurt and disappointed in him for leaving her and the Brotherhood for letting Clegane go. He had seen the Hound eyeing her curiously, even if she hadn't seen it herself. And though there had been nothing particularly malicious in the Hound's gaze, he knew of Sandor Clegane's reputation. And while there was nothing sinister in the grey eyes of the Hound, there had been greed.

Gendry should have known. Should have stayed vigilant, despite her being mad at him. He knew how much she was worth to the right person. To know that the Hound could have- that he might have...

Gendry could hardly stand the thoughts, but they plagued him nonetheless.

The whole Brotherhood had searched for them. Eventually they had found the a pile of rocks and Gendry... gods Gendry could remember the crushing regret and loss he had felt when the others had told him it could possibly be a grave. Clegane had traveled in that area, it was possible that's where he had been lain to rest or... someone he was traveling with, someone smaller.

(Because Gendry had seen the Hound's size and seen the rock pile and it hadn't been big enough for Clegane's bulk.)

He refused to believe it had been Arya dead and buried under those rocks. She was a fighter and too fierce to just go and die, especially from the hands of the Hound. If anything it would have been Arya murdering him, Gendry was sure of it.

But they kept searching and there was still no sign of her and eventually Gendry's hope started to ebb, replaced by dread. He stayed with the girls at the Inn by the Crossroads and forged all day and sometimes all night. He was colder without Arya and the guilt he felt at having just left her was starting to get to him. Guilt, regret, longing, bitterness and despair filled him these days when he thought of her; which was often and constantly.

Now the woman knight named Brienne came and said she was looking for Sansa, the older sister, the one Arya had talked about rarely, and Gendry's pain was fresh. The sight of the man- Rorge they called him- wearing the Hound's helm only to be killed by the ugly woman was a shock to Gendry. He had thought it was the Hound she had murdered and then the other man, the one they said was Biter, went after her and Gendry couldn't very well let her die, now could he? So he stabbed Biter through the neck.

But he couldn't bring himself to talk to the Maid of Tarth, not really. She brought back too many memories. Instead he let the Brotherhood take her captive to the lady who had used to be Arya's mother.

Gendry hadn't seen the resemblance. Arya had looked nothing like this woman, even when Gendry tried to picture Stoneheart alive he couldn't see a trait of Arya's.

He wondered what the girl he knew would think of her mother now, if she could see Stoneheart. Gendry avoided the woman. He didn't like her, she was unnatural, not like Bondarrion. She was another painful reminder and sometimes the way she acted reminded Gendry even more that Arya was a lady and could never be acquainted with someone like him.

After Brienne fought Rorge, when Thoros warned Lem against wearing the helm of the Hound Gendry was with him. He didn't understand how Lem could wear it- he had known Arya!, knew that it had been the Hound who had taken her- and not feel uncomfortable. If nothing else he should have felt it was bad luck. Gendry thinks that no one but the younger Clegane brother could wear that helm and not be punished with bad luck. Look what had happened to Rorge.

Gendry looked down at the new blade he had just made and stuck it in the bucket of water beside him, steam rising with a hiss to envelop him. He thought the same thing he always did after going through what had happened again.

Arya was not dead. She couldn't be. Gendry would keep an eye out until she was found and he saw her with his own eyes.

He wouldn't be at ease until he knew she was safe and sound.

oooOOOooo

Jamie x Brienne

2. faithfulness

"Jamie," she whispered, once again left speechless by the man in front of her.

He grinned, a forced grin but a well meant one. "I mean it, I forgive you," he repeated. "It's okay."

Camping out alone in the trees at night, Brienne had found herself unable to keep up the charade any longer. She knew the Hound didn't have Sansa Stark, knew that Sansa was perhaps lost to Westeros forever. She was bringing Jaime perhaps to his death.

The Brotherhood and the monster that was Catelyn Stark wanted her to kill him. She knew she could never do such a thing.

So they had ridden together, heading in the general direction of the Brotherhood but Brienne had no real plan to go with them. They had bantered back and forth like they had used to and Brienne had felt the nervous flutters she always felt around Jaime these days. He looked the same as he had in King's Landing when she left him, perhaps a bit muddier and more unkept from being in the country for a while.

And she had met his eyes for the first time in too long, seen his smile and had realized how deeply she had really missed him. She almost laughed at it, the fact that she, the Ugly Maid of Tarth, missed him, the Golden Kingslayer from Casterly Rock. It was ridiculous. They were polar opposites, him being beautiful and her being... what she was.

They had made camp on the edge of a forest of trees, using it both as a quick place for protection and a way to see anyone who came out of the trees. They would take turns on watch, they decided, trading off.

Brienne had barely partook in conversation, her internal battle being too much for her until eventually she couldn't stand to lie to him any more.

"I'm sorry," she had whispered in the dark, close to him with only the moon, stars and dying embers of their short cook fire for light.

Even so she had seen him sit up. "What for?"

She sat up as well and turned in her bedroll to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, she noticed, and he looked confused but not angry or hateful like he should.

Like she deserved.

"I- we're not going to rescue to Sansa." She said eventually, working past the sudden lump in her throat.

"Then... what is this?" She could see his grin was slightly false and more wary than before. Leave it to him to try to make a joke. "Are we out here all alone as your attempt at seducing me, Brienne?"

She didn't find it funny. She was too miserable to even blush. "Jaime," she whispered. "I lied."

He turned slightly to lean on his right forearm. "About what exactly?" She didn't answer. "Brienne?" He prompted, more serious.

She glanced up to meet his eyes but looked down right after. "Well- see, I was caught. On the road, while looking for her."

"Sansa," Jaime supplied and she nodded, unsure if he saw it in the darkness or not. "Caught," he said after a moment. "By who?"

She grimaced at the reminder. "It was... something nobody's seen before, Jaime." Her voice shook slightly, but not much. She was Brienne of Tarth and she was nothing if not good at staying strong. "It was the Brotherhood Without Banners; and... and Catelyn Stark."

She heard his intake of breath from where she lay. "No." He protested. "She died at the Red Wedding."

"Yes," Brienne agreed. "But it was her, I swear to you. She was some... thing. Thoros, the Red Priest, you know him?"

"Heard of him, yes."

"He brought her back somehow," she murmured. "But she's different. She's not alive, not really. If you could see her..." Brienne shuddered. "But she wants her daughters back." She continued. "She hates you, she thinks your broke your promise to get Sansa back. And she hates me," she stressed, "because she thinks I've become a traitor and serve the Lannisters- er, your family."

Jaime let out a breath. "Brienne-"

"And then she gave me a choice," Brienne went on, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She wonders if Jaime hears it in her voice before deciding it doesn't matter. He probably hates her by now anyway, and if he doesn't yet, he will. "She said I could hang or- or kill you." She squeezes her eyes shut now, keeping the water at bay, trying to force them back. "I couldn't kill you," she whispered. "I swore an oath to you and we're- we're friends. I couldn't betray you like that."

"So that's not what this is?" His voice came out sounding slightly strangled and yet far away despite him being only feet away from her. "This isn't you taking me to my own execution." He barked out a humorless laugh. "Because it would have been pretty genius, I'll admit. I did come willingly after all."

She shook her head, eyes still closed, unable to look at him. "I couldn't," she replied. "So I told her to let me hang."

She heard Jaime move after a minute of silence and continued, still not opening her eyes. She spoke before he had a chance, not wanting to hear him say she disgusted him, he hated her, that he was leaving and she would never see him again, and if she did he would kill her or worse. First she wanted to explain, to get it all out. "I couldn't kill you, so I would let them kill me instead. But then I saw- I saw Pod, this squire I picked up." She smiled a bit, weakly. "He used to squire for your brother and was looking for him. Seems he has himself a loyal servant." She shook her head, getting back on track, still hearing slight movement. She wondered if he was packing his things, if he was leaving.

Her stomach sank and dread filled her. It would make sense, she supposed. It wouldn't be uncalled for, she had led him away from his men under false pretenses. But she wouldn't look until he spoke again.

"I saw Pod hanging there, a noose around his neck, and I couldn't let him die either, Jaime, I just couldn't. So I- I said your name as they hung me and- well they took us down, assuming I'd accepted the option of killing you." She edited out some parts, how she hadn't spoken his name as an agreement but as a plea. Because his name was the last to enter her mind as she hung there, his face was the last to flash before her eyes and she didn't know why. All she had known was that she was glad he had been safe, far away from them.

But she didn't say that. She skipped that part, the part about how at his name they had let them all down, and she had done some quick thinking. "I told them I would search Westeros for you and come back with you to them, some way or another. They said they wanted to watch me kill you themselves."

"And?" He finally spoke and she startled at the sound of his voice which was suddenly right in front of her. Her hand reached to the pommel of Oathkeeper but her eyes opened and she saw he was crouching right in front or her, a foot or so away. She took her hand away from her sword.

She lost herself in his eyes but went on, telling him everything. "Well I left them, they kept Pod in case of my possible betrayal. I came here and found you and, Jaime," she took a breath. "I have a plan. It might not work, they might still want to kill you, kill us both, when we get back to them, but it gives you a chance of survival."

"So we are going to rejoin them?" He asked, still staring at her. He hadn't moved away, that was something. Brienne would savour it while she could.

"Eventually," she agreed. "But first we're going to find Sansa Stark."

That, he hadn't been expecting. "But you said..."

"We are going to find her and bring her back to her mother." Brienne said determinedly. "Then you will have kept your word and so will I. She'll have no reason for killing either of us."

Jaime's eyes searched hers and something smoldering filled his. "And maybe we'll have grown on the girl so she wouldn't let her mother kill us even if they wanted to," he mused back. "I see your point, but Brienne," he said quietly, "do you have any idea where Sansa could be? Any at all?"

She lifted her chin a bit. "No," she admitted, "but we have to try, Jaime. We have to. They'll kill us if we don't."

"They'll kill you," he said, staring her down. "A wench and my brother's old squire- one he didn't care about in the least by the way. I could leave you right here, right now and rejoin my men, making my way safely back to King's Landing."

She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. There was silence for a long time after his words, broken by the far off hoot of an owl and the sounds of forest at night. "You could," she said finally, voice a bit shaky. "I wouldn't blame you, really I wouldn't." She looked down finally. "But I thought- well this could solve everything if it works. And you'd have kept your word."

He sighed. "And if it doesn't we'll both be dead," he muttered as if to himself. Brienne didn't say a word.

They were both lost in their own thoughts and Brienne finally noticed how close he was and how loud her heart seemed to be beating in her chest. She wondered how he wasn't growing uncomfortable, staying in that position for so long, when he finally spoke again.

"Seven hells," he cursed quietly. "Fine. Let's get the girl and save both our skins. If I don't do it now she'll probably send someone else for me anyway."

Her eyes shot to his. "Really?"

He nodded and forced a smile. "We've done great things before wench," he said. "Saving a girl of four and ten shouldn't be too difficult."

She smiled but it wasn't a happy smile. "I'm so sorry, Jaime."

"I forgive you," he answered simply.

"Jaime," she protested weakly, unsure of what else to say, speechless. He couldn't forgive her just like that, not after what she did.

"I mean it," he reassured her. "I forgive you. It's okay."

She didn't say anything, still shocked, but a happy smile split her face and her eyes sparkled enough for him to see even in the almost non existant light they had. Relief made it's way through her and she realized how worried she really was that he would hate her. Then, suddenly, surprising Brienne, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

It was just a quick press of lips against lips, Brienne was too surprised to move before it was over, but it made her feel better than she did after a good fight. It made her blood course through her and her toes tingle. She thought to herself that this was what all girls must feel when they kiss men they felt affection for.

She was just like any other maiden in that sense at least.

He laughed a bit, breaking her out of her thoughts, and she knew now that her cheeks were bright red. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

He cleared his throat and moved back a bit, turning to go back to his own bedroll. "Just in case we do end up dying on this insane venture," he said but there was a peculiar sound to his voice. "I wanted to do that, at least once."

She cleared her throat as well and turned to lay back down on the ground, staring up at the sky. "Alright."

She could see his grin in her mind's eye as he replied. "It was, wasn't it?"

Brienne grinned too staring up at the night sk, and didn't reply, too lost in her own thoughts.

oooOOOooo

Catelyn x Eddard

3. duty

"I'm sorry."

She turned away from him and busied herself with rummaging through her furs, trying to decide which one to wear on this particular day.

Something drab, maybe, to reflect her mood, she thought sadly. Something that would make her unapproachable because she didn't want to be social today.

Not when all she wanted to do was rage and wallow in her hurt, her anger.

Jon Snow had been here for three months now but the sight of him still brought betrayal and anger fresh to Catelyn's heart.

His apology had become a daily routine. He would apologize every morning after she finally heaved a great sigh and stood up to get ready for what the day held for them. He would apologize with his eyes every time Jon Snow's name was mentioned, would squeeze her hand trying to offer comfort and support.

But she would pull her hand away and look down, ignoring the words about the bastard child and the pitying looks of others. No other lord had ever brought his bastard child to his home. No other lords had subjected their lady wives to the humiliation and horror. Catelyn had to watch the child play with Robb, her own son, had to endure seeing him when they ate. She watched with angry and jealous eyes when Ned would spend time with him.

Catelyn Stark hated Jon Snow. He was a constant reminder that Ned, loyal, honourable Ned, the one who was supposed to have been different and faithful, had lusted after another woman. A reminder that Eddard Stark of Winterfell hadn't been in love with Catelyn Tully- because if he had been he would never have done this to her.

He may love her now, she wasn't sure. But it wasn't enough. What was done was done. She knew he hadn't loved her before, just as she hadn't loved him. Love had came with getting to know one another, with being together after their marriage. She still remembered how cold he had been when she first asked about Jon Snow's mother.

'Never ask me about Jon,' he had said, cold as ice. "He is my blood and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.'

She had told him and the servant had been dismissed from Winterfell and no more talk of Ashara Dayne or any speculation of Jon Snow's mother had been voiced in the castle since. Not even Catelyn- who had all the reason in the world to demand an answer- would dare to test Ned on that matter.

So she turned around after picking out her clothing for the day and met his eyes. "I know you are," she responded.

"Cat-" he tried to say something, a pleading and almost guilty look in his eyes.

She shook her head, ignoring the raging emotions inside her. Despite herself she loved this man with all her heart. He had given her a good life and an amazing child- hopefully with more on the way. But he had mistreated her and she was hurting. "No, Ned." She drew herself to her full height. She was nothing if not kept together- being here had only strengthened that in her. "I will meet you to break our fast," she said, effectively cutting their conversation short.

He had looked after her with regret and longing as warring expressions on his face.

oooOOOooo

That day was a long one for Catelyn, longer than most. She knew it should be getting better, having the base-born spawn around shouldn't be such a bother as it was months before; but it only seemed to grow worse. Everyone was starting to treat him as if he really were the proper son of their lord, as if he was Robb's true brother. Jon Snow received smiles and woman cooed after him as they cooed after Robb.

That day, unable to resist, Catelyn had slipped into the boy's chambers while he was supposed to be sleeping. She had refused to allow him to be housed in the same room as Robb and Ned had unwillingly agreed, obviously knowing he wouldn't win that argument without ultimately losing Cat in the process. She wouldn't stand to have them in the same room.

When she entered the room she knew right away the boy wasn't asleep. He was lying on his cot and the gurgling sounds of a baby filled the room.

If it hadn't been for the fact he was Eddard's bastard, she would have been just as won over as the others. He really was adorable.

What really hurt her was the fact that Jon looked so much like Ned, even now at only months old. Ned's eyes, Ned's dark hair, something in his face and nose... he was a Stark, there could be no doubt. Catelyn could see no clear sign of who the mother could be. This boy was all Stark.

Robb didn't look like Ned, not really. He had her red hair, curly and growing longer each day. Robb was a Tully boy and although there was a hint of Stark in his face, you couldn't deny that he looked more like Cat.

He was the true born heir to Winterfell, and yet this child lay here looking like more of a Stark than Robb ever would. It made Catelyn hate him all the more. She knew some said that Jon Snow was more of a Stark than Cat herself and that made her absolutely loathe the child. Because yes, Catelyn had been born a Tully, but ultimately she was a Stark. She had grown used to these cold lands and it's even colder people. She knew the ways here now, knew the customs. She understood now, unlike how she hadn't before being Ned's wife.

Catelyn wondered what would happen if she killed the child. Nobody would hate her, or even blame her, she thought. They couldn't. She wondered, if she just smothered him here, right now.. what her life would be like.

She closed her eyes briefly. When she was being honest Catelyn knew she didn't have the problem with the actual child himself. It wasn't Jon Snow she hated. Killing him would maybe get rid of him now, but it wouldn't erase the fact that he had existed in the first place.

She looked down at the boy and hesitantly, hating herself for even this action, reached a hand out to touch his cheek. She hated herself for it, but couldn't stop the action.

He was warm, like his father. Catelyn was surprised when his eyelids fluttered and the grey orbs moved to look at her with the wonder all children had in their hearts at youth. She stared down and moved to pull away, ashamed at being caught, even by this boy who would never remember this moment, but little chubby hands moved to grab her larger one and hold her there, one of his hands wrapping itself around her pinky finger.

Her mouth opened in surprise and she had to blink at the sudden tears in her eyes. She was supposed to hate this creature, this child who shouldn't exist. She wasn't supposed to think he was cute, wasn't supposed to feel like she felt with Robb when he grabbed onto her.

She stayed like that, with Jon holding her where she was, tears trailing their way down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking slightly. She didn't hear the door open, didn't notice her husband stop dead in his tracks, staring with shock at the sight that met him. He noticed her shaking, saw a tear fall, and Ned Stark swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat before tearing his eyes away and moving to close the door behind him.

Catelyn didn't know her husband stood outside that door for minutes, trying to ignore what he had just seen, trying to push down guilt for the one and only lie he had told his wife.

She didn't know how long she stayed there for, crying and watching him. Jon eventually let go of her hand and she pulled it away quickly, as if afraid that if it stayed near him any longer it would burn. He turned over where he lay and stuck his own hand near his mouth. Catelyn watched as he fell asleep.

She left soon after, hurrying away without anybody seeing.

She didn't speak much for the rest of the day, replying when spoken to. She picked at her food in dinner and when she looked up it was always to find Eddard staring at her curiously.

The Lady of Winterfell ignored it. She didn't want to dwell on Ned right now, although it seemed to be all she was doing anyhow.

Later, that night as they were getting ready for bed, she slid under the covers and let out another big sigh. She hade made it through another day. She had remained strong.

"Cat," Ned turned over to lay on his side beside her before she could blow out her bedside candle and she turned to look at him.

She really did love him, she couldn't help but think as she studied him. He was more than everything to her.

She didn't say anything, just watched him expectantly, and now it was him who was sighing. "I am sorry."

Catelyn sighed again, daring to do what she couldn't bring herself to before. "You loved her, his mother. Didn't you? That's why you brought him here."

He grimaced. "Maybe once," he murmured. "But that's over now. Now there's you and only you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She asked him. "Oh, you gave her up after the war, when you had to, but when you thought you could die... it wasn't me you thought of, you didn't stay faithful to me. You found comfort in the arms of some wench, one who's name I don't even know."

"Cat," he said again, tiredly, and maybe she had made him angry at her words of the whore. It wouldn't be the first time. "Please."

"And now you bring him here, because you loved this other girl and want him to have the best life he can. Here he'll be raised as a well provided for child. It's a better life than he would have had with the mother, even though he's a bastard, isn't it?"

Ned winced. "I brought him here," he said slowly. "Because it was my duty. And he is my blood."

"What about your duty to me?" Catelyn asked, hurt. "Your wife, the one who has borne you a son and will hopefully bear many more of your children. What about the honour you value so highly? You would never betray that for anything else, but when it comes to me... your honour can be set aside as easily as that, is that so?"

"You don't understand." Ned's voice took on a pleading tone. "I'm sorry Cat, but I can't- I can't-"

He trailed off, not finding the words and she looked away, not speaking. They were quiet for minutes, the silence broken only by their breathing. Finally, Ned slowly placed a hand on her arm, carefully as if not wanting her to move away.

As if she could ever.

"Will you ever forgive me?" He asked, something miserable in his voice.

She looked up, barely, to meet his eyes. Grey and deep and entrancing and she felt the same way she had when she first realized she loved this cold man of the north. Nervous and confused and fluttery.

"Ned," his name was a sigh. "I already forgive you."

He sighed as if from relief, and he leaned forward slightly.

"I love you," Ned promised.

Catelyn turned and blew out the candle, moving in the dark to be close to him, sighing and wrapping her arms around him when his enveloped her.

"I know," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling him playing with her hair. It was easier, somehow, to forgive him, to be with him, in the dark. "I love you too."

It wasn't duty that made them say it anymore, it was true feelings. It had taken a while, longer than either Ned or Catelyn would have liked, but they were there, finally. Secure in their love for each other at last. This marriage was no longer just duty and passionless. There were real feelings involved now, and even though there was Jon Snow, Catelyn knew she was happy.

Happy here, in this home she had never expected to love, with this man who had once seemed so closed off and cold. There was a child now, one who would grow older and become Lord of Winterfell after his father passed away, his mother being there to watch him grow up. Winterfell had become Catelyn Stark's home and the people in it had taken root in her heart.

Catelyn had never expected this place to feel like home. She was used to summers and southern ways, people who were easy to read and always smiling. Not harsh cold and stern, expressionless humans.

But she fit in surprisingly well here. Ned made her feel accepted.

No, it wasn't duty that made her say she loved this man. And even since Jon Snow she had never doubted them, not for a moment.

oooOOOooo

Ygritte x Jon

4. passion

"Nothing, you know nothing, Jon Snow!" Ygritte's voice cried out.

He frowned at her. "I know more than I did," he said reasonably, trying to calm her down.

But Ygritte was all passion and fire, uncontrollable once she got started.

"Not enough!" She exclaimed, pacing furiously, cheeks red from cold and hair wild around her. "You do not know enough. Even now you're as bad as a greenboy. What fills your head, Jon Snow, mud? What makes this so complicated?"

"Nothing," he replied, fighting back a smile because that really would make her mad. "I just-"

"Or is it because you are a lording's son?" She asked. "Do they not teach you to do this in the south?"

He opened his mouth, again to protest, but she stomped over to him before he could, eyes sparking. "And you are the man who stole me," she said, shaking her head in mockery. "A man who cannot even seem to tie his shoes without doing it wrong."

He frowned again at her. Nevermind the rest, he could definitely tie his own shoelaces. "Ygritte-"

She stomped up to him, anger and annoyance making Jon want her all the more somehow. Her eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

He stopped, watching her as her chest heaved up and down from her outburst, hair still blowing around her face, cheeks flushed. She was beautiful to him now. More beautiful than ever.

So really he couldn't help but kiss her.

She made a sound of protest as his lips smashed down on hers and hit him a few times; but after a few seconds her arms moved from hitting him to resting on his chest and her lips moved with his. A few seconds more and her arms slid up to wrap around his neck, her hands tangling themselves in his hair and making Jon groan as his wrapped around her and pulled her to him, as close as she could come.

Her mouth opened and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring everywhere, making Ygritte grip him even tighter. He could feel her chest against his and it made him have to hold back yet another groan. The tools from beside them lay forgotten, Jon's pitiful attempt at making a pair of moccasin shoes like the rest of the wildlings wore half buried in snow.

He pulled away from their kiss and grinned a small grin, proud of himself for making her speechless as she stared, her chest heaving for an entirely different reason now.

"See?" He asked smugly. "I do know more than before."

Her cheeks grew even more red and Jon grinned wideer as she looked away. "Oh, Jon Snow," she said, much calmer than a few minutes ago. "That you do."

He closed his eyes and pulled her to the ground with him as she jumped and smashed her lips to his once more.

oooOOOooo

Rickon x Shireen

5. playfulness

"Does it hurt?"

Rickon's impulsive, tactless words were out in the air before he could think them through. His eyes widened and his face darkened a shade, embarrassment filling him. He wished he could take them back, wished he hadn't spoken in the first place...

Shireen's sweet, gentle face looked at him and her eyes met his, curious. "What?"

He cringed. He'd already spoken, it was too late to turn back now. Besides, he really did want to know.

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, looking down, arms behind his back. "Your- your face." He said, trying not too sound too rude. He remembered Sansa and how mad she got when he wasn't polite, when he didn't remember his manners; especially to a girl. "Does it hurt?

Something sad came over Shireen's face and Rickon immediately felt bad. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he chastised himself.

She looked almost disappointed as she looked down at the ground of the garden they were in and scuffed her toe against the grass. "No," she said quietly. "It doesn't hurt."

Rickon looked at her curiously and it was another impulsive action when he reached out slowly and touched her cheek.

She jerked back from him, eyes flashing to his, wide with surprise. He stepped back a bit too, effectively abashed. "Sorry," he apologised right away. "I just wanted to touch it."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Well I suppose you can if you like."

He moved slower this time, not wanting to startle her again, and hesitantly reached out and stroked Shireen's cheek. It was slightly colder than the rest of her, but smooth. Like Sansa's jewels she was always wearing, Rickon realized. It even looked a bit like the sparkly one, the one she called diamond.

The contact made him feel funny and something jumped in his stomach so he pulled away, Shireen's eyes again wide and staring at him. Finally, after looking at each other for a bit, she looked down again shyly.

"People make fun of it," she said quietly. "And me. They say I'm ugly."

"Ugly?" Rickon's voice was surprised as he asked. Shireen was a lot of things, Rickon knew that, but he had never thought she was ugly. She was funny and shy and nice and didn't treat Rickon like a baby like the rest of them did. He liked her, she was always willing to play with him.

She nodded and Rickon thought she looked sad. He frowned at the thought. The people were mean, the ones who called her ugly. Shireen should never be sad, he decided, because Rickon liked her much better when she was happy.

"I don't think you're ugly," Rickon said confidently, smiling at her like his words would solve everything. "I think you're really pretty," he added seriously. "Like my sister, Sansa."

If he was being honest Rickon had never thought Sansa was that pretty. He vaguely remembered his mother and knew that Sansa looked a lot like she had. Rickon thinks his mother must have been the most beautiful person in the world to make his father fall in love with her- although he didn't remember his father either. However, Rickon had heard lot's of the adult men talk- and some women as well- about how pretty Sansa was.

If Sansa was pretty than Shireen must have been gorgeous, Rickon though, because while he didn't notice much of Sansa he thought Shireen was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

Shireen met his eyes and hers looked round and happy and when she smiled Rickon thought she had the prettiest smile in the whole world. "Really?" She asked suspiciously, hopefully. "Or are you just saying that to make fun of me?"

Rickon shook his head frantically. "No," he objected. "I mean it. You're beautiful."

Shireen looked at him before smiling again. "Thank you," she said, suddenly shy again.

Rickon nodded as if the subject was settled, and turned to look around. "What do you want to play?" He asked her, momentarily forgetting their conversation.

Shireen shrugged. "Princess in the castle?" She asked him.

He nodded again, because as long as he got to be the prince who saved the princess he liked that game. It was filled with adventure and Shaggydog even got to play too because Rickon was the prince who rode on the wolf. Shireen was the princess trapped in the tower and Rickon got to save her from a dragon.

They played in the garden for hours, Shireen being an old witch who tried to stop him from getting to the castle by selling poison, a sellsword who Rickon met and stabbed to death with a wooden stick on the kingsroad and finally a dragon who he had to get through to finally save her as the princess. When he made it she would always kiss him on the cheek and make Rickon feel like he was flying, feel like he did when Shaggy ran really fast and he was on his wolf's back.

When they were done playing they walked around the garden, pointing out plants and insects to each other. Shireen was scared of a frog so Rickon had Shaggy take it away and Rickon showed  
Shireen his favourite flower, a bright green one with lot's of petals.

Neither noticed King Stannis and his hand, Davos Seaworth, walk into the garden watching them.

"... been playing together for days, Your Grace," Davos was saying quietly. "Nobody noticed until today and I alerted you as soon as I could."

"The youngest Stark boy, you're certain?" Stannis's low grumble replied.

"Look for yourself, sire, they're over there."

Look Stannis did and he watched as the kids walked around, holding hands innocently as children do. He had never seen his daughter smile like that, he realized, nor had he seen the Stark boy so... tame.

"Robert always wanted Baratheons and Starks to unite," Stannis said eventually, loud enough for the children to hear. He wasn't worried, they didn't understand his meaning anyhow. "Looks like it might finally happen."

Davos looked at his king in surprise. "You don't want anything to be done?"

Stannis looked at Davos strangely, as if he had just told the King he had a second head. "Why would I? They're just playing."

Davos bit back a grin. Obviously the king hadn't though ahead a few years, to when the boy would want to wed the princess and... Well. Davos didn't particularly want to think of that either. He knew what he had been like when courting his own wife.

He watched the children again, seeing how the boy stared at Shireen more than anything else, how he made her laugh. It comforted Davos, and gave him hope. He had always thought Shireen was a lovely girl, sweet and innocent. Her looks was a shame, he knew, but if a man could get past that...

It seemed like one finally had. Steamrolled right through that obstacle with the ferocity of... well, of a wolf.

"What of you, Your Grace?" The Hand asked. "Do you support this union?"

Stannis watched the young ones closely, noting Shireen's shy smile, the way she reached out to place a hand on Rickon's arm hesitantly as she leaned over the young boy to look closer at the flower he was showing her. "I dare say she could do worse."

Davos looked at the children with his lips twitching. It was the closest the union would get of an approval from the father.

oooOOOooo

Sansa x Sandor

6. forgiveness

"Little Bird."

It was a whisper in the night and Alayne thought she was in a dream again, or imagining things. His voice, harsh and scraping, couldn't be real, couldn't be here in the Eyrie, with her. No matter how much she wanted it to be.

She had had this dream many, many times before, each time making her believe it was true, real. That he was here and rescuing her, that he had come back. Each time she believed it and the moment she let herself relax, the first second she forgot to prepare for the dream ending, it did.

But she clutched to it while she could, clung to it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

The voice was low, dark and gravelly. As rough as she remembered, there was a note of vulnerability there that she hadn't dreamt in it before, didn't remember ever hearing from him except the very last time she had seen him. Those last two words he had said were also, 'Little Bird', she remembered. Raw and shaken and broken, Sansa couldn't erase the sound of the last time she had heard him speak from her mind even if he had tried.

But nevermind that now. Now her eyes fluttered open and her head turned as they focused, slowly making sense out of the shadows of her room.

The window let in light and Sansa saw his hulking figure sitting beside her bed, hunched over slightly, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He looked down at her and Sansa saw his eyes flash, just like they'd used to in King's Landing.

She smiled. This was already a good dream, she could tell. Although she hadn't expected the startled look to come over his features, it couldn't erase the smile from her face because right now he was here, with her, even if it wasn't real in the end.

It was never real in the end.

"Hi," she murmured, drowsiness making her voice deeper than usual.

His eyes darkened so much she could see it from the light filling her dark room and she smiled again, unembarrassed because this was all in her imagination.

"Little Bird," when he said her name again it was raw and more tender than she had ever heard from him before.

"I hope you stay for a long time tonight," she said, still smiling, unaware that her words caused him to freeze where he was, caused his eyes to shoot to her face. "I hate waking up and realizing it all wasn't real."

"Sansa." The shock of hearing her name from him made her brain start to work and her eyes focus fully, made her sit up where she was in her bed. She hardly even noticed the tone in his voice, confused, angry, mocking and... nervous. "We need to go."

"Go?" She asked staring at him. "Why? We've never left my room before." She blushed at the words she thought but didn't say: we don't need to leave my room.

"What? No," he shook his head, ignoring her, getting up and moving. "We need to leave. Get out of here."

"But- get out of the Eyrie?"

"Of course Little Bird, use your head!" He snapped, gentleness gone- he had been gentle before, she realised. Strange, she didn't remember him being like that before, not in her dreams and not in real life. "Littlefucker and his brainless guards-"

"Father?" She asked in surprise.

"Father?" His tone was downright murderous as he growled the word. "What the fuck is this father business?"

"I- I mean..." she stammered, trying to explain. She didn't like this, in her other dreams he didn't say these things, didn't ask these questions. It made her mind hurt, trying to come up with the right answers. "He's-"

The Hound sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Being around her seemed to set him on edge, she noted. "It doesn't matter, not now at least." He glanced at her. "Get up, girl, and pack your things."

She stood up right away. This she was familiar with, he had asked her to get out of bed before in dreams. But pack her things?

She shivered as the cool night air hit her skin and gave her goosebumps, a thin white night gown not doing much to preserve warmth. She blushed a bit because her gown was quite see through, but this was a dream and she had no reason to be embarrassed.

She felt flutters in her stomach as his eyes snapped to her and took her in, for a second he seemed unable to move, leering at her as he used to, taking her in, staring at her.

"Seven hells," he cursed quietly, lowly, almost angrily. "Seven fucking hells. Bugger me." His eyes bored into her, making tingles run through her. He had never quite looked at her like this before- leering, staring at her unable to pull his eyes away, it was almost exactly like he had before, back in King's Landing.

Sansa loved it. She reveled in it.

"Little Bird-" his tone was harsher, more raw, a scrape, gravelly.

"Yes?" She asked lightly.

Her voice made his eyes flash up to meet hers and she realized he hadn't been talking to her at all. His gaze darkened- but not pleasantly so- and he turned away. "What are you doing? I told you to pack! Get moving." He hesitated. "And put something warmer on."

She moved almost as if in a dream, obeying him, not asking any questions. He stood by the door while she did and Sansa only later realized he was standing guard.

She stuffed in warm shoes, warm dresses, nice dresses, smallclothes and packed some jewelery- she liked to have her things with her. Sansa couldn't pack it all but she fit quite a bit in a travel bag Petyr had made for her-

Petyr!

"What about fath- Littlefinger?" Sansa asked Sandor, shrugging on a warm fur cloak, mittens and slipping on her other pair of warm shoes.

"Littlefucker can burn in hell for all I care," Sandor replied harsly. "I came here for you and only you."

She hardly heard his last sentence, suddenly feeling light headed. Petyr wasn't coming? Was this some sort of test set by him?

She had gone a month, being subjected to subtle kisses, sly touching and appreciative gazes from her 'father'. Now it was the last week before her wedding to Harry the Heir and the Hound suddenly shows up?

"Done packing? Good." He yanked open the door and pulled up the cowl from his robe- brown, Sansa noted- and checked the hallway outside her room. When he appeared satisfied he turned back and grabbed Sansa by the wrist, pulling her behind him and fingering the hilt of his sword with his right hand.

Where-?

What-?

Why-?

Sansa could barely form a rational thought as they hurried down corridors, sneaking quietly. She didn't know how she knew to be quiet, she just did.

"What are we doing?" Sansa finally asked. "Where are we going?"

He didn't answer so she ground her feet into the floor, stopping and yanking her hand away. "Sandor. Why did you come here?"

He froze and let her pull away, turning to meet her eyes. His were soft and warm and gentle, more gentle than Sansa ever remembered them being, but they were also cold and calculating, as if suspecting her of mockery.

"I've come to get you the fuck out of here," he bit back after a second, turning to take off again, grabbing her once more. "Away from Littlefinger and the rest of these bastards, away from that fucker Harry the damned Heir."

She moved quickly as he pulled her behind him, his touch burning through her clothing to make her blood run hot and electrifying. "Why?"

"Why?" He turned around suddenly, mouth twitching. "What, do you want to stay here? With this man who pretends to be your father, with a sickly cousin who could die at any minute? You _want_ to get married again, Little Bird, is that it?" He let go of her suddenly, as if she was fire itself, and stared at her as if she was completely insane.

Maybe she was, Alayne thought wildly, hope rising in her. No- not Alayne. She was Sansa now, if the Hound spoke the truth she never had to be Alayne ever again.

Something- the wolf in her- soared at the thought, but something also crashed. It had been nice, sometimes, being Alayne. She hadn't had to be so... polite and accommodating all the time as Alayne. She didn't have to be as prim as Sansa, didn't have as much ignorance.

"I..." She shook her head. This was too much too fast. She wasn't understanding it all. "I don't want to get married again."

Sandor snorted. "Some sense at least," he muttered.

Then they were off again.

Sansa didn't speak, she was too scared. This wasn't like her usual dreams and she was starting to think- starting to hope- that maybe it... wasn't.

But no. She couldn't. Whenever she had done that before she had woken up.

But she smelt him now, no longer stinking of sour wine and blood. His smell reminded her of rich earth, of Winterfell and it's halls and yes, there was an underlying smell of wine but it mixed well with the rest. She could feel him, making her feel jittery. She saw him clearly, every detail.

She saw him watching her too, sometimes. Sometimes his eyes looked confused, sometimes angry, sometimes gentle. She didn't remember him as gentle but he was here and she wouldn't change that for anything, no matter how he acted.

He didn't really speak either and when he did it was only to bark a quick command. 'Stay back,' 'run ahead,' 'go outside.' Sansa waited for the Hound to return to where she waited just in front of the Eyrie doors. He walked back briskly, quietly ordering her to get out, and grabbed her upper arm.

She gasped as she saw lifeless bodies on either side of the doors, blood pooling around them. Her hand flew to her mouth and her wide eyes shot up to his grey ones, staring down at her with almost no expression in them.

"Come on, Little Bird," his face may look hard under his hood, but his tone was a gentle murmur. "Time to get out of here."

She had known he was a killer. She hadn't forgotten who this man was. Sansa just hadn't expected him to kill so soon. Looking into his eyes, a sense of peace and safety washed over her and her heart stopped thudding wildly in her chest.

She nodded, finally looking away, and didn't say anything as she raised her chin and walked out quickly, passing the prone bodies without so much as a glance.

He was taking her away from here, those men were Littlefinger's men. Sansa owed them nothing, not even her sorrow.

So she wouldn't give it to them.

Idly she wondered how they hadn't run across more guards, especially Sandor when he came in here. He was hard to miss and if this really wasn't a dream- like Sansa was slowly starting to believe- the guards would definitely be wary of someone so tall. He definitely stood out.

But as she was thinking all of this the answer came to her.

Of course. He had already killed any guards they might come across. He wasn't stupid, Sansa knew, he would have this all thought out and planned.

"Quickly, come on now," the Hound urged as he swung her up on a mule. "Had to leave my horse down below, couldn't climb the mountain like these buggers." He glanced around warily and it took Sansa a moment to realize he was nervous.

Petyr had taught her well. Before she hadn't been able to read him at all.

"The snow," she protested quietly. "We would be faster on foot-"

"No," he muttered. "These bastards may not like me but I trust them on this hell more than myself. We ride."

She nodded, sitting straight up. "Follow me then," she said, suddenly confident. She had been here longer than he had, she had come up this mountain before. She knew she could do this.

Sandor stared at her in surprise before nodding a second later. "Alright, Little Bird."

And off they went.

It was slow and cold and Sansa shivered almost the entire time. Her mule slipped once on ice, causing her to lurch forward and hold on for dear life. She could hear Sandor cursing behind her, wondered how the mule was taking his weight. They weren't used to bearing such large people, she hoped it didn't slow the poor animal down or make the mountain harder to navigate. There was no snow falling tonight, but the air was freezing and the darkness didn't help. Howevever these mules were surefooted and knew the way. Sansa had faith they would make it. They had to.

They reached Sky and the wind blew heavily. Sky, a high, crescent-shaped wall of unmortared stone raised against the side of the mountain. Inside the walls was a series of ramps and a great tumble of boulders and stones of all sizes, ready to throw down or even cause a minor avalanche, Sansa recalled Petyr telling her once. They moved quickly and quietly, hesitant to wake anyone who may be resting there for the night. Inside was a cavern containing a long natural hall, stables, and supplies.

Sandor took her there, telling her to dismount he put the mules in the stables, taking two different ones out. He went to where the supplies were kept and filled his saddlebag with something that looked like rope, some sort of weapon and what looked suspiciously like a flagon of drink.

While he did that Sansa readied the two fresh mules, quickly mounting when he reappeared.

Without any delay they set of for Snow, Sansa once again leading the way. She found herself nodding off, startling awake with every stumble of the mule. Sandor had stolen her away in the middle of the night, she was quite tired. This trail was treacherous and steep, horrible to climb down, Sansa found her stomach jolting with every step, nervous of an accident. But this was the worst set of stairs, after this the ride should be much easier. Snow and Stone's sets of stairs weren't so nerve-wracking.

The faintest hints of sunlight were starting to rise when they reached Snow, the high tower with a stable nestled behind it. They went straight through, Sandor appearing nervous as the sun rose higher, and pushed on straight to Stone. Sansa was starting to get hungry but decided to wait until they left the Bloody Gates to bring food up to Sandor, nervous about making him angry.

He used to get mad at everything she said, her memory recalled. She wondered if he still would.

Although he did seem more tame now, she had noticed already. Less rough around the edges, slower to anger.

The reached Stone and Sansa saw that guards were slowly moving around, changing shifts, getting ready to break-their-fast. She heard Sandor mutter more curses and felt rather than saw him moved to catch up beside her on his own mule.

"Hood up," he hissed to her as they came into view.

She did as she was told, fur lined her hood and covered her hair and part of her face. It must have fallen sometime, she had had it up for the cold but maybe it had slipped off when she had dozed off on the way here.

Guards met them at the gates.

"Bit early for travel, ain't it?" One asked, a tall man although he was a dwarf compared to Sandor. "What's this?" He asked, jerking his head towards her.

Fear gripped her but Sandor seemed to know what he was doing as he let out a laugh, jerking his head towards her. "Lord Baelish had his fill for the night," he replied, with what Sansa detected to be a fake note of humour. "I'm to return her to King's Landing now."

Sansa blushed, realization coming to her. She was to play the role of a whore. Obviously a high paid whore, given her state of dress and appearance (Shae had once told her she could never pass for anything other than regal, she looked too much a highborn).

"King's Landing?" A second guard asked in surprise, appraising her, suspicion leaving his eyes. "Seven hells, she must be a good one in bed if he took her from there." The guard leered at her and Sansa stiffened a bit, disgust and fear filling her.

Sandor will get you out of this, she thought to herself, trying to ignore memories of a riot in the streets, screaming merchants, men who pulled her off her horse just to- to- She shuddered, but not from the cold. Smells of horse, blood and sweat filled her nostrils, yells and the sight of Joffrey being ushered safely away, Sandor being the only one to come back and save her...

"Baelish took a special liking to this one," he muttered now, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Look at her. Remind you of anyone?"

The two guards looked at her again, comprehension dawning in the eyes of the first one. "She does look like Catelyn Stark, now that you mention it," he said. "Had the woman up here months ago, saw a passing glimpse." His beady brown eyes studied her, darkening. "She is a pretty one, you could always leave her here." He suggested, not taking his eyes off of her.

Sansa started at his words, the ones of her mother and of his request. Her stomach felt heavy, her legs like lead. If they kept her here...

Sandor laughed. "I would, see," he replied easily, but she noted a hard tone in his voice. She relaxed. Of course he wouldn't leave her here. "But she's to get back to her place of work, Lord Baelish has had his use of her. Besides," she was sure the guards could detect the grin in his voice even if they couldn't see it on his face. "Might get some use out of her myself on the way back."

The men all laughed and Sansa sat there, not saying a word, resolutely looking at the ground, her shaking hands clasped in front of her.

"Alright then, go on, lucky bugger," the second guard said, waving them on. He winked at Sansa as she passed him and her thoughts scrambled, wondering what she should do, before she decided to just wave back, a shy smile coming on her face.

It was all fake of course, an act. But by the men's smiles and laughs she assumed she'd done the right thing.

They yelled up to guards working the gates and they opened, Sansa relaxed at the sight of forest behind them. Trees surrounded the path leading down from Stone to the Gates of the Moon.

They went on without a backward glance, going as fast as appearances would allow.

"Good acting back there," Sandor muttered to her as they rode side by side, looking over at her. "Went easier than I expected."

Sansa shot him a warm smile, too happy to care about anything else but the rush his words sent through her. "Thank you," she said politely. "But I didn't do much. You came up with the story."

He shrugged at her. "Had to have a plan didn't I? Couldn't just come and rescue you without thinking it through." He met her eyes and she was enraptured by the sudden openess in his. "Wouldn't be much of a rescue then, would it, if I couldn't even get you out?"

Sansa smiled wider, turning away to look ahead of her. No matter what happened next, wherever he was taking her, she was sure she wouldn't mind.

"How did you know where I was?" She asked suddenly, after a long silence filled with thoughts. They must be close to the Gates of the Moon by now. The bottom of the mountain.

"A dog's good at sniffing out his prey," he replied back.

She was quiet, not wanting to push him. If he didn't want to say... well he had rescued her, she shouldn't ask anymore of him.

He was quiet for several seconds, the only sound was the mule's hooves crunching on the ground. "Baelish," he said after a bit. "He's smart, but not smart enough to fool a former Kingsguard member." Sandor snorted. "Actually, bugger that, he is. Those men are bloody fools, can't tell their left hand from their right. But he forgets I was Joffery's sworn sword and some of us knew him for years while he stayed there." Sandor looked over at her before looking ahead once more. "I... went to a monastery after Blackwater," his voice took on a curious tone, one Sansa couldn't identify. "Worked as a member of the faith." He snorted. "It was fucking ridiculous, but I was hurt and they patched me up. I confessed my sins, donned a new cloak and got to shut my mouth for a long time." She could see the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. "It was good for me. Anyway," he said, glancing at her again. "We got a lot of travelers down there, and while us novices had to stay quiet they had no such obligation." He gave a laugh. "They pissed on the quiet there, filling the halls with gossip and news. I had already learned about your marriage to the Imp, the Purple Wedding and you getting the hell out of King's Landing." He was quiet and Sansa wondered if he was thinking back to the night of the Blackwater, how he had offered her an escape from that place as well. She should have gone, she lamented. Should have just got up and left. She wondered if he was mad about her rejecting his offer and then leaving soon after. "Good for you, by the way. So I knew all of that," he cleared his throat. "Then a man comes to the Quiet Isle, a deserter, looking for a safe place to stay for a night. He talks about how that fucker Baelish got a pretty base-born daughter of four and ten off some whore." Sansa imagined Sandor's evil grin. "I know he's too smart to knock up a whore, he owns half the taverns in King's Landing. Baelish is a lot of things but he's not stupid. He knows what moon tea's for. I figure how it's convenient you disappear from the Red Keep soon after he did and suddenly he gets a pretty little thing as his daughter."

She was speechless. Her mouth opened and closed several times, no sound coming out.

"Thank you," she finally said.

He didn't say anything.

They made it to the Gates and passed through with the same story they had in Stone. Sandor got his horse and they walked through the gates on foot, Sandor saying he didn't want to give any of the men there too long a chance to recognize Strange (the horse).

Sandor helped Sansa mount after speaking to Stranger gently with a few soothing words to get him to stay. The horse was huge and vicious, Sansa knew of it's reputation. It may just be a horse, but it was the Hound's horse- people talked about it.

She leaned forward and stroked Stranger's neck, hesitantly but calmly, speaking soothing words as she did. Behind her Sandor kicked the horse in the sides to get it to move but Sansa kept brushing his neck softly.

At first the horse started, skittering forward nervously.

"Little Bird-" Sandor had started, a warning note in his voice.

But then Sansa had spoken quietly to it, without fear, and it had calmed down right away. She had been proud of herself, to say the least. She had never been much of a horsewoman but she liked this horse- it reminded her of it's master.

"He likes you," the Hound noted from behind her, a surprised note entering his voice before he resorted to muttering under his breath. "Of course he does, what living creature could ever resist you?"

But it sounded mocking, bitter. Like he had back in King's Landing.

Sansa flinched. "Joffery," was her one worded reply.

He didn't respond and she didn't turn around.

Finally they made it to the Bloody Gates and left the Eyrie.

Sansa hadn't been out in so long... it made her feel free, alive. Arya had always been the adventurous one but Sansa felt like she was on an adventure the moment they trotted out of those gates and away from the mountain.

She smiled.

But the smile slowly slid off her face when, as they had just gone a far enough distance to be out of sight of the Bloody Gates, two riders rode at full gallop towards them.

"Gods be damned," Sandor cursed behind her. "Knew we shouldn't have followed the path... although I didn't think anyone would be coming here, of all places." He set Stranger's reins in Sansa'a hands and shifted behind her. Reaching for his sword. "Put your hood up," he told her again, "and if things go badly I want you to take Stranger and run, you hear me?"

"Badly?" She squeaked out. "Why wouldn't you be there too?"

She turned to look at him and his eyes were soft as he looked down at her. "Little Bird," he murmured once, quietly, reaching up to stroke a stray strand of red hair behind her ear.

"You there!" A voice rang out and both Sandor and Sansa's eyes shifted to the newcomers-cringing as they did.

Because both of them knew that voice. And who it belonged to.

Jaime Lannister, in all his golden glory, rode up to them without fear with his companion following close behind, fingering the hilt of a sword. Two knights then. Sansa cringed. She knew Sandor was a good fighter, but this was Jaime Lannister and although he had supposedly lost a hand... there was another man to help him.

She kept her head down. If the golden man before her recognized her... Sansa cringed. He would take her back to King's Landing, force her to be with Tyrion and go on trial for killing Joffery. He would take her right back to that place.

She felt Sandor shift again and curse loudly.

"Lannister?" He asked incredulously.

Jaime, who Sansa had felt studying her, shifted his gaze to the man behind her. "Hound?" He asked, thrown for a moment. "What- you're dead."

Sandor laughed viciously at him, mockery dripping from it.

The second knight trotted up behind the Kingslayer. "Sandor Clegane?"

Sansa pressed back against the Hound's chest in surprise. That voice wasn't male- it was distinctly female. When she glanced up quickly she saw that although the person did look manly, she was, in fact, a woman.

Sansa looked back down at her hands.

"What's it to you, wench?" Sandor asked before looking back up at Jaime. "Dead am I?"

"Dead or... so it was you then? Slaughtering those people in the Saltpans, raping and pillaging?" Jaime shook his head. "Didn't seem like you, to be true, but I suppose when it comes to it men will really do anything-"

"Raping?" Sandor asked. "Pillaging in Saltpans? Who's this, then?"

Jaime looked at him coolly, having regained his composure he and the Hound talked like old companions although Sansa sensed the rising tension in the air and noted that Sandor was gripping his sword.

"Supposed to be you," Jaime Lannister replied. "If it's not than whoever it is has your helm, is going under your name."

Another bark of laughter from behind Sansa. "You're fucking kidding me."

The Kingslayer shook his head. "Truth," he grinned a bit, weakly. "For once in my life."

"That fucker," Sandor said, more to himself than the rest. "Stole me helm and going under my name..."

"Ser Sandor?" The ugly woman broke in, sounding a little nervous, and Sansa cringed at how she addressed him. "I went to the Quiet Isle-"

"I'm no buggering ser, wench." He interrupted her, scorn in his voice. "Aye, I saw you there. Heard you were asking around for me too. Looks like you finally found me, eh?"

"I-" The woman appeared thrown for a moment. "I was looking to speak to you.. about Sansa Stark?" It came out almost as a question and Sansa tensed, once again confused. She was missing something, something important. Why would this woman be interested in her? And if she was, why look for Sandor? "The Elder Brother told me it was Arya you had," the woman continued and Sansa sat up straighter, eyes flicking up to watch the woman. Sandor tensed noticeably behind her and Sansa's minds filled with questions.

Arya? Did he have her too, stashed away while he rescued her? Was the Hound bringing her to her little sister-

"He told me you were dead," the woman knight went on. "And that Arya Stark had gone no one knows where."

Disappointment filled Sansa so heavily she blinked, hoping to stop tears. She must ask Sandor later, to know what happened. To ask about Arya.

Gods, Arya. Her little sister.

"How rude of us!" Jaime broke in, interrupting Sansa'a thoughts. Her eyes flicked to him and saw he was studying her intently and his mouth grew hard when their eyes met, even though Sansa'a flicked down immediately. "Clegane, you're letting us talk while the young woman in front of you is sadly neglected. Please," he went on, "introduce us."

"This one?" Sandor replied a beat later, voice not as strong as Sansa would have hoped. "A whore Baelish has grown sick of. I'm taking her."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "You work for Littlefinger?"

Sandor snorted. "Bugger that, I don't serve anyone anymore."

"A whore?" The ugly woman's voice was tinged with slight disgust.

"Brienne," Jaime finally gave name to the face. "No need to be rude." The was a knowing tone in Jaime's voice that Sansa didn't like, Stranger skittered nervously underneath both her and the Hound.

Sandor laughed. "Not a problem, I'm sure she's used to it." He said, obviously meaning Sansa. "Well, if that's all-"

"Not so fast, Clegane." A hard edge entered the Kingslayer's voice. "I'd like to take a look at this... woman, if you don't mind. I'm sure if she really is who you say that won't be a problem."

A growl escaped Sandor and he jumped from Stranger faster than Sansa would have thought possible. Jaime though, must have been anticipating the movement because he slid down almost as fast, with Brienne following closely after.

"Bugger that, Lannister. Stop pretending, you know who she fucking is then."

"Of course," Jaime replied, dropping his guard slightly to look once more at Sansa, who was sitting frozen on top of Stranger. "My dear, Lady Sansa," he bowed to her. "I'm quite glad to see you again."

Sansa stared at him with wide eyes, too shocked to move. He did know, dread and defeat consumed her. That was it then, she would be going back to King's Landing and given back to the lions.

"Lady Sansa?" Brienne's voice was startled and hopeful as she asked. "Who- the whor-" She stopped herself from speaking the word in front of the young girl, glancing at Jaime.

"Oh, don't hold your tongue now wench," Sandor growled. "I'm sure the girl's heard worse."

Carefully Sansa reached for her hood and pulled it down, off of her head, to reveal herself in full.

Brienne let out a gasp and Jaime nodded, as if unsurprised, although something like triumph flickered in his eyes. "Ser Jaime," she greeted nervously. "And Lady... Brienne, was it?"

Brienne dropped to her knee and Sansa saw Sandor's rattle his sword out of it's scabbard as she did. Jaime obviously saw it too and his voice interrupted once more. "No, Clegane. We don't want any trouble with you," Jaime reassured. "We just want the girl."

Brienne stood up quickly, taking out her own sword. It caught Sansa'a eye and she gasped, distracted from her fear and the conversation. That sword- valyrian steel... it looked so familiar...

The last time she had seen Ice was when her father had been executed, but Sansa remembered it very clearly.

Jaime looked up at her and Sansa was sure she saw regret come over his face. "Ah," he said quietly. "Yes, the sword-"

"Where's my father's sword?" Sansa demanded, suddenly not scared at all, only blindingly angry.

Brienne looked down at the sword she was holding before hesitantly sliding it back in her scabbard. "Jaime-"

"Not now, Brienne." He quieted her before turning to Sansa. "Sansa," he said gently, almost pleadingly. "My father made two new swords out of your father's-"

Sansa sat up straighter, ice flashing in her eyes. She grabbed Stranger's reins and held them ready, glancing once at Sandor- who was watching her carefully- before turning to stare coldy back at Jaime. "Your family," she said, rage making her speak impulsively, unlike her usual self. "Have taken enough from mine." She saw Jaime flinch at her words. "I do not think I need to add myself to that list. Not again."

Shock crossed Brienne's face. "Jaime," she ordered, something suddenly authoritative in her voice. "Move back. I think I can talk to her."

Sandor finally spoke once more. "You're both blithering fools if you think I'm letting you place one fucking finger on her."

Three sets of surprised eyes turned to him. "Clegane?" Jaime asked.

"You may have been able to beat me once, Lannister- although we know I could beat you as well- but you're a cripple now. I can take you easily and don't think I don't know it. And her," Sandor jerked his head towards Brienne. "I've heard she's a fighter but if she can't take you down than she won't have much of a chance against me."

"You're forgetting something," Brienne interjected before Jaime, still looking confused and glancing back and forth between Sansa and her rescuer, could.

"What's that?" Sandor bit back.

"There's two of us," Brienne said. "And together I think we could take you quite easily." She sounded angry now and when Sansa saw her glance at Jaime she wondered if it was because Sandor had threatened the Kingslayer.

Sansa saw Sandor's wicked grin from where she sat. "That's all I need," Sandor said. "You won't finish me quickly, wench. Gives the girl a chance to escape on horseback."

What-?

Jaime started to speak but Sansa let out a shriek before he could. "No!"

Now surprised eyes were turned to her and she blushed lightly but didn't care, not at all, not now. "No, I won't just leave you-"

"Little Bird," he growled. "You will."

"Now, now," Jaime interjected, hands raised in a gesture of sudden surrender.

"Jaime-" Brienne started.

He ignored her. "I think I understand now."

"Seven hells you do, Lannister," Sandor muttered. "I don't even fully understand yet."

Jaime shot him a glance before going on. "You want a reward, don't you? Money? Give Sansa to me and I'll give you money. Casterly Rock is full of it."

Sandor snorted. "Still so buggering stupid," he said.

"And you, Lady Sansa, you don't want him killed? We won't kill him. We'll pay him more money than he won in the tourney at King's Landing. You don't have to stay with him," Jaime said, trying to be comforting. "I know he's scary, but I'm sure he'd let you go-"

Sansa was shaking her head before he had finished. "You'll hurt him," she whispered.

Again surprise crossed the three faces in front of her, and the Hound's lip twitched.

"Lady Sansa?" Brienne asked her in surprise. "What- you care if he-"

She drew herself up to full height on top of Stranger, standing much taller than even Sandor. "Yes," she said, sounding strong.

"I see how it is," Jaime's voice was still gentle and Sansa noticed he was easing ever so slightly towards them. "He's rescued you, filled your head with stories on what he'll do. You care for him because you feel indebted to him, yes? Well, Sansa," his eyes turned to meet Sandor's. "I know this man. Worked beside him for years. He saved you only to sell you off to the highest bidder. He's no savior, no knight."

Sandor let out another growl as Sansa sat there, unable to form words. Her tongue seemed to have turned to lead. "You buggering fool. You son of a bitch, mother fucker." Sandor said heatedly. "You're still as stupid as you were in King's Landing, Lannister. You can't get your head out from between Cersei's legs, you have no idea what you're talking about."

Sansa gasped at his language and accusation and she saw Brienne's face harden immensely. Jaime, however, did nothing more than wince. "Cersei," he murmured. "My sweet sister." His face hardened as well and he glanced almost warily at Brienne before meeting Sandor's eyes once more. "You too, have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to Cersei, Hound."

"I might not," Sandor laughed. "But half the men in King's Landing do, Kingslayer. How many men did she fuck when you were out of sight? I must have escorted at least half of them, known the other half."

Now Jaime flinched. "This is no way to talk in front of a Lady, Clegane."

"Ah, piss on that," Sandor said. "You know it's true, don't you?"

With what appeared to be some effort, Jaime turned to Sansa. "You don't wish us to harm, Clegane?" He asked her. She shook her head, too shocked to do anything else. "Then, Lady Sansa," he seemed to have to force the words out. "I swear on my honor as a knight that we will not harm Clegane."

Sansa saw Sandor snort and flinched at Jaime's words. "Your words mean nothing to me," she whispered, looking down. "I've been betrayed by too many knights to believe any of them have honor any more."

"You can believe him," Brienne interjected.

She looked up in time to see Jaime's surprised face. "Sansa," when he spoke his tone was much graver, full or sorrow. "I promise you."

"Bugger that, Lannister, and piss on the wench of yours as well." Sandor turned his head a fraction to look back at Sansa. "Go on, Little Bird."

"But you-"

"Go!"

"Wait!" Brienne said before Sansa could move- not that she was going to. "Sansa, my lady," the big woman stumbled over her words. "We wish to take you back to your mother."

oooOOOooo

The riding was slow.

Sansa refused to dismount from Stranger and even if she hadn't, Sandor never would have let her ride with either Ser Jaime or Lady Brienne.

"Do not try to run," Jaime warned. "We'll catch you and Hound, you'll be as good as dead."

Sandor snorted. "I won't run, Lannister. I gave you my word. We can take the girl back to her mother. But," he growled. "If they hurt her I'll kill every fucking one of them in that damned Brotherhood, even the smithy boy. And I'll kill you two, don't worry."

Jame appeared unperturbed. "Quite a lot of killing."

Sandor's eyes narrowed. "You think I couldn't?"

Jaime shook his head. "If anyone could it would be you." He sighed. "But as much as I would love for you to get the satisfaction of killing me, this is the girl's mother we're talking about. She's in no danger, I'm sure."

Sansa didn't speak, and niether did Brienne. The men filled the silence, insults rolling off their tongues, banter and idle comments. Eventually Jaime asked Sandor what he had done after Blackwater.

"Met up with those Brother's Without Banners," he said. "They were the ones with the youngest Stark girl, little bitch that she is."

Brienne let out a gasp and Jaime's eyes flickered to Sansa in warning.

But Sansa giggled.

She and Arya had never gotten along and this was the Hound, she was sure he didn't really mean it. She had detected an underlying tone of respect in his tone when he spoke of Arya.

Besides, it wasn't like Sansa could say it herself. It was funny to hear somebody else.

"Ser Clegane!" Brienne's outraged voice finally piped up. "How dare-"

"Ah, go fuck yourself, wench," Sandor replied, easily. "Unless Lannister's already doing it for you."

Immediately Sansa turned her head to hide a grin. So she wasn't the only one who had noticed how Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime acted around one another. She hadn't been imagining things.

When she had controlled herself and glanced back up she saw Brienne was a very deep red in the face and was spluttering, unable to say anything. Jaime Lannister, always composed as he was, rolled his eyes and looked ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"You never change, Hound," he said. "Still the same man you were when you left King's Landing."

"Who else would I be, Lannister?" Sandor bit back.

Jaime shrugged. "People change."

That put an end to that conversation, all of them retreating into their own thoughts at Ser Jaime's comment.

"So," the Hound eventually broke the silence. "How did you know she was in the Eyrie?" He asked the two knights, nodding at Sansa.

She turned to watch the pair, also curious. Jaime shrugged and looked at Brienne, obviously expecting her to answer.

"It was where her aunt used to be," Brienne said finally. "Of course we knew that Lady Lysa was dead, but we thought that Sansa might have gone to her after leaving King's Landing, since that was before the woman's death."

"That's right," Sandor said, as if a realization had struck him. "Did you see what happened, Little Bird?"

Their eyes turned to her and Sansa froze, unsure what to say. Memories of Petyr shoving her aunt out into the air, the frozenness of the moments after. Marillon the singer... She shivered and glanced at Sandor to see his eyes piercing hers, concerned and curious. She took a breath. "I-"

"It must have been traumatic, to be sure," Jaime interrupted seeing her discomfort. "I hope you didn't see it while it happened? It must have been dreadful."

Brienne nodded. "No lady your age should experience seeing that."

"No lady her age should experience a lot of things, wench," Sandor replied, Sansa felt his eyes resting heavily on the back of her head. "Yet this Little Bird has gone through more than most."

Sansa retreated further into herself, refusing to meet any of their eyes, leaning back against Sandor's chest. His heartbeat at her back was comforting, his warmth radiating through her to drive away the cold that creeped in her veins.

"No," Jaime murmured in reply. "I suppose that's true."

Darkness fell quickly and Sansa slid off of Stranger to help make camp. "When will we reach my mother?" Sansa went up to Brienne and asked hesitantly.

She liked Brienne, despite their tense meeting. She seemed loyal and kind and much more honest than her companion. Although she traveled with Ser Jaime, Sansa had quickly deduced she was very unlike him. Brienne, Sansa knew quickly, wouldn't be able to tell a lie if she tried.

Her looks didn't bother Sansa. She had seen worse and besides; she had learned the the worst looking people tended to be the best.

She glanced at Sandor, who was talking quietly with Ser Jaime near the horses.

Brienne looked up as Sansa turned back to her. "Lady Sansa," she said gently. "You- I hope you realize that this... woman, she's not- not how you remember your mother. The Red Wedding was...hard for her."

"Lady Brienne," Sansa replied with a small smile. "I've thought my mother was dead for the past months. At this point I'm just glad she's alive, no matter what she may be like now. She's still my mother."

Brienne hesitated, seeming to be at war with herself, before nodding. "We will reach her in a few days, a week at the most Lady Sansa."

The Stark girl nodded at the blonde woman. "Thank you," she murmured.

Dinner was a quiet affair with covert looks being sent every which way. Sansa seemed to be the only person who didn't notice, too focused on eating and then preparing her bed roll for sleeping.

She was speaking with Brienne, asking questions about her mother and various other topics, when she heard snippets of the Hound's conversation with the Kingslayer.

"Little Bird?" Jaime asked Sandor, questioning.

"Bugger off, Lannister." There was a warning note in his voice. "Lest you lose the other hand."

"No, really." Jaime pushed. "What's that about?"

She saw Sandor bristle before shrugging out of the corner of her eye. "A nickname," he said back quietly. "From King's Landing."

"King's Landing?" Jaime asked in surprise before lowering his voice. "I wasn't aware you two spent time-"

"I was Joffrey's dog, Lannister." The Hound bit back. "He sent me to do all sorts of things, some of them including his... fiancée. When she was that."

Jaime sighed. "She seems strangely... fond of you."

The Hound didn't reply and Sansa blushed, resisting the urge to turn around and look at his face, wanting to see what he was thinking.

"Fine, I won't pry." Jaime said, backing off. "Gods know I have my own secrets."

Sandor let out a small laugh and Brienne's voice brought Sansa back to the lady in front of her. "My lady?"

"I'm sorry, I blanked out for a moment," Sansa replied, faking a yawn. "In fact, I'm growing rather tired. I think I should be getting to sleep."

"Good idea," Jaime's voice broke into their conversation and the women turned to look at him. "I think we should all get some rest now, it'll be a long day's ride tomorrow."

"Yes," Brienne said. "I am rather tired."

They all turned to look at Sandor who shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."

It was several minutes later when Brienne let out a shocked gasp as Sansa dragged her bed roll over to rest only a foot away from the Hound's. Jaime glanced at her, surprise once again evident in his eyes, before shaking his head and looking back down at his own set of furs.

She glanced up warily to Sandor, expecting scorn and anger. Instead he only raised an eyebrow, his lip twitching once more.

"I may have been a silent brother for a few months girl, but the Kingslayer and his wench have taken no such oaths," he said quietly. "They can still talk in inns."

Sansa shook her head, smiling. "I don't care."

And she didn't. For perhaps the first time in her life, appearances and propriety were not at the forefront of her mind.

He shook his head at her. "What the hell have they done to you?" He asked in low tones.

She stared at him in shock, hurt filling her at his words, but before either could speak again Jaime broke the silence.

"I'll take first watch," he said. "You two had best get some sleep."

He doused the fire without waiting for an answer.

There was quiet for almost a half hour before Sansa turned over.

"Sandor?"

She heard him turn over, presumably to face her. He didn't answer so she presumed he was waiting for her to speak.

"Is this real?"

"What?" His voice came out not at all tired, just confused, and she wondered if he had been sleeping or staying awake as well, listening to her breathing as she had to his.

"Is this a dream?" She asked. "Because I've- I've been dreaming for months that you would come and rescue me." She was glad it was too dark to see her burning cheeks. "And I always wake up and you're gone," she murmured, hardly loud enough for even him to hear, not wanting to be overheard. "Is this just another dream?"

"I-" He sounded strange, Sansa thought, not at all like he usually did. She wondered if he was mad at her, or was judging her as just a silly little girl, like she had been back in King's Landing.

"I just don't want to wake up to find you gone again," Sansa said, and this time repressed tears were in her voice. "Because this one seems so, so real. I don't think I could stand it. Not with everything else."

"Little Bird," his voice was as rough as it had been the night he left his cloak with her, the night the sky glowed green and burning hot with wildfire.

He didn't say anything else and she inched forward, needing to be near him, make sure he was real. "Please," she whispered. "Don't let this be a dream."

But if it was a dream- her spirits plummeted at the mere thought- then she would most likely wake up as she was falling asleep. And even though the air was cool, the furs were soft, the ground was hard beneath her, she heard Brienne's snores, Jaime's breathing and could practically feel the Hound, she couldn't help but think that it could be a dream. Despite how real and alive she felt. If she woke up soon she wanted to do one thing before she did. Something she'd wanted to do since he had come to her last night and taken her away.

Feeling scared and yet tingling with anticipation, Sansa reached out and felt around, her hand landing carefully on his face. He started, and she felt him inhale as her fingers moved to cup his scarred cheek once again, just like that night from months ago. He was frozen and Sansa felt the rough yet almost wet feeling of his skin, moved her fingers slightly so he was stroking his cheek.

He shivered just as she moved, putting her elbow on the ground to lift herself slightly, she hesitantly pressed her lips to his.

Sandor made a sound and pulled away slightly. Just enough for their lips to no longer be pressed against one another's. Sansa wondered if she had done something wrong, if he didn't want to kiss her.

Then he let out a breath of air, an almost growl, and she opened her eyes to see his, shining in the moonlight. He pushed forward and captured her lips once more, not at all gentle or slow. His mouth opened and Sansa responded, moving with as much need as he did.

But then he stopped .

He was breathing hard and didn't do anything so she pulled away, nervous jitters filling her. What was wrong? Did- did he not want her to kiss him? Did he wish he had never kissed her back in King's Landing?

"I'm sorry, Little Bird," he rasped out to her, closing his eyes.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "For what?" She whispered.

Her mind searched for a reason for the sudden apology. The kiss they had just had? King's Landing? The beatings, the harsh yet true words, the night of Blackwater, leaving her, letting them be taken by this lady knight and Jaime Lannister, someone she hated?

None of it was his fault. She had even liked the kiss.

"Lot's of things," he said eventually. "Joffrey, that little shit, me just standing there and doing nothing- that night in your room with the fucking song and now, here..." He was rambling but Sansa couldn't make sense of the things he was saying. Her mind was still so fragile, so confused, she couldn't see what he was trying to do, trying to say.

But she knew that whatever he was apologizing for, she forgave him. 100 times over, she forgave him.

"I forgive you," she whispered, cutting him off. She looked up, met his disbelieving eyes with a smile. "You were the only one," she started, "who came for me with not other reason than to save me. Not for money, or- or to save your own honor. The only one who cared enough to try." She closed her eyes, murmuring the words with the corners of her mouth turned up. "How could I not forgive you?"

"Little Bird," he said again, emotion in his voice.

"Ssshhh," she shushed him. "Be quiet and enjoy the night with me." She replied, eyes moving to look at Jamie and Brienne lying across the fire, one of them wide awake and staring at the sky, one snoring peacefully beside him with a small smile on her face. "You'll protect me," she muttered. "I know you will. You won't hurt me and you won't let anyone else hurt me."

His mouth twitched, grey eyes boring into hers. He spoke after a few seconds. "No, Little Bird, I won't hurt you."

She just turned her head and smiled.

oooOOOoo


End file.
